The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Elhume, perhaps self-evidently, looked essentially like a human. A tall, athletic human with short hair that shimmered in light and flowed from one color to the next, but a human nonetheless. His nose was wide and his jawline strong. He wore only a thin black vest; it almost struck Randidly as weird not to have a colored robe identifying his identity. He wore battered boots and cloth shorts.

His eyes were golden and sharp, visual even from a half mile away as the group made a beeline toward them. At Randidly’s warning, the Patron of Feathers and Patron of the Deep had come out to welcome their companions. The Patron of Feathers seemed immensely pleased, while the Patron of the Deep just seemed bored.

“Here we go again,” The massive Origin Beast released a large enough sigh that a small whirlwind formed in the dirt nearby. It did not help Randidly’s nerves to see him suddenly quiet. He released a second sigh in only a few seconds. “I wonder what helpless innocents we will be crusading to save this time.”

“We are attempting to keep rigid stratification from strangling the life out of the Aether Lands, remember?” The Patron of Feathers added.

“For now,” The Patron of the Deep grumbled. “Thankfully, the Nether King is making preparations to house all these unwashed homeless. Otherwise…”

Before he could continue speaking, some of the Patrons began to whoop and run forward, excitement clear on their faces. Mae Myrna took the lead, her eyes burned with life. “Reunited at least! With our powers combined, we are undefeatable!”

She and the Patron of Feathers met in massive, spinning hug. The Patron of Blooms and the Patron of the Sun, both looking younger and more innocent than the versions inside the Alpha Cosmos, came next to inspect the Patron of the Deep for wounds. He waved his appendages, asking them to please stop, even while very obviously relishing the attention.

The Patron of Blades and the Patron of Abyss walked slowly with the Patron of the Borrower, their eyes scanning the horizon for threats. Meanwhile, Elhume’s yellow eyes fell on Randidly and didn’t waver for a moment.

“You must be Nether King Hungry Eye. I’ve heard a lot about you, but wasn’t sure what to believe,” Elhume’s voice was warm and resonant. Up close, his leather boots and canvas pants were scuffed with dirt. Yet his smile was wide and open. He was a handsome man and his raw, natural charisma through Randidly somewhat. “Sometimes, Truth over there doesn’t really deserve her moniker. She can get swept up in the romance of a situation.”

“Hey! I heard that.” Mae Myrna pulled back from her hug and glared at Elhume. “How dare you deny what any pair of eyes would naturally tell you: this Nether King is the sort of weather-beaten traveler who would enrich any quest! Failing to invite him with us to meet the Cult of the Savior would have been such a waste! A gallant companion is there with you through thick and thin.”

The warm smile on Elhume’s face faltered briefly as Mae mentioned the Cult of the Savior. His eyes when he refocused on Randidly were a little bit sharper. “Indeed? Well, at least I’m not the only one who sensed something strange about this man then. Your aura… you also refine Aether? And your body…”

Randidly stiffened, even as Elhume took a step toward him. Up close, a strange and oddly familiar intensity burned in his expression. Elhume flexed his hands, cracking his fingers and knuckles. “Considering all you have done for the group, it’s a bit much to ask. But… please allow me to spar with a fellow body practitioner.”

Randidly blinked at the sudden suggestion. The rest of the Patrons groaned good-naturedly. Meanwhile, Elhume’s face bloomed open with the enthusiasm of a battle maniac. For a split second, a hand gripped his heart. Those chill, black fingers tightened slowly around the organ.

He looks… so much like Helen it hurts.

His stomach released a strange rumble.

Still, he didn’t reject the offer. Since he was here, since he was brought face to face with this oddly innocent version of Elhume, he would taste his overwhelming power. Randidly offered the other man a short bow. “It would be my pleasure. I have heard quite a bit about you, Elhume, and your eight fists.”

Elhume released a barking laugh and raised his right hand. “Eight fists? Ha! What an exaggeration. No. No, for me… only a single fist is enough. Anything more than that is just superfluous.”

A pulse of pure image power spread out from Elhume. His words resonated with the image that lurked right beneath his skin, ready to spread out and dominate the area. His zealous anticipation for battle deepened the resemblance to Randidly’s first knight. His stomach tied itself into a knot.

The rejection of eight fists came as a surprise, but Randidly supposed it made sense for the man’s image to evolve somewhat when his real-life priorities so drastically shifted. Yet suddenly, it became very difficult to focus on that aspect.

Already the Patrons sprung into action. The Patron of the Abyss and the Patron of the Sun used their images to weave a barrier around a large central area where they were standing. His skin tingling, Randidly walked to the far side of the arena.

He watched Elhume beginning to stretch. The reality of the upcoming spar between them felt like a dream, like he would squeeze the moment too tightly and tear it to shreds. His Nether Core revved in his chest. The revving rapidly began to accelerate, the memory becoming incredibly stable around him. His emotional sea started to stir. Something from the deepest corners of his heart was rising.

If anything would rip its way through the memory, it was the beast of pure Wrath that was steadily waking.

His countenance darkened. Randidly Ghosthound looked out at the bright face of Elhume, the man who would one day become a villain. Who created the isolated universe that gobbled up his planet, who pushed his people to the brink and forced them to fight to live, the opponent who had created the hierarchy that rewarded soulless monsters like Commandant Wick.

This man hadn’t yet committed those sins.

Yet Randidly would be fucking damned if he let this being try to capture even the slightest aspect of Helen’s spirit, even for a moment. It didn’t quite make logical sense. But that enthusiasm that leaked out of Elhume’s grin… it made Randidly want to rip off the man’s whole head.

*****

Mae Myrna had been about to make a joke to Feathers, but suddenly the feeling in the air changed. She pivoted and looked out across the battlefield, where the two men were standing to face each other.

The other Patrons sometimes joked about her image. They said it may claim to be Aether, but the aspects of a world she sought to emphasize made it feel awfully close to Nether. They joked about it, meaning to mock the direction of her growth, but it had actually been a source of quite a lot of inspiration for Mae. It had helped her weave her power even deeper into the world-state she projected.

And at moments like now, it let her sense when something big was coming. The wind died, afraid to draw the attention of the unnaturally still Nether King on the far side of the arena.

Bewildered, Mae first looked at Elhume. To see if he had done anything to earn the ire of the Nether King. But he continued to stare forward with blazing eyes, apparently overwhelmed with excitement; he so rarely found opponents willing to fight against him these days. Especially ones who possessed powerful bodies.

Especially especially individuals who would fight without holding back.

“Shall we fight with just our bodies, Nether King Hungry Eye?” Elhume called out with hunger and strange sort of glee in his voice.

In answer, a wave of spectral grey flames surged across the Nether King’s body. His eyes, usually so lively and green, now resembled the deadly stillness of a peat bog. His words came out in a whisper. “Come at me with everything you have.”

“Ha!” Elhume kicked off the ground with enough force to shatter the stones beneath his feet and spray pebbles across the watchers. His body blurred across the intervening distance, yet Mae felt it moving in almost slow motion.

Despite the fact his opponent had urged him to come with full force, he still didn’t activate anything but his body. Mae couldn’t decide whether he was underestimating his opponent or overestimating himself.

Her eyes were naturally drawn to the Nether King, opposite a relatively unprotected Elhume. He was a bipedal creature with black hair down to his chin. His limbs were long and muscular. His eyes were a piercing emerald. He possessed a spear he kept wrapped around his waist and wore an immaculately embroidered black robe. He had displayed a surprising amount of capability in their brief spat with Westrisser’s men, but this-

Even while still, the air around him burned. Half from the spectral flames of Nether Weight he so cavalierly utilized, but the other half was raw emotional force. Mae had never felt its like, even from Faelmac Westrisser himself. All of that had been grounded in a concrete image. A massive continent’s worth of emotion now ground against all of them, projected out from his body.

It acted like a vindictive wind, pushing the flames of Nether Weight to rise to new heights.

“Elhume,” Mae found herself whispering. Her impression of the Nether King rapidly changed. How could she have missed this? This feeling- “Right now he’s not a friend. The Nether King-”

Nether King Hungry Eye stepped. His hand left a jagged gash in space, dragging with it all the condensed Nether Weight and howling emotion he contained. Elhume reacted quickly; he also possessed an overwhelming physique. He planted his feet and crossed his arms in front of him in a guard and finally activated his image.

This was not the time for Elhume’s fool habit of revealing his powers one at a time during a fight.

“-is a villain!”

The Nether King’s hand burned through the flesh on Elhume’s arms, smashing the image back before it could protect his body. The attack didn’t slow down at all through the guard, simply bullying its way through and piercing into Elhume’s torso. Even as Elhume’s eyes widened, the Nether King unleashed a beam of pure emotion from the hand, ripping a hole out of his back and sending him careening back across the isolated sparring area.

He skidded across the ground, small clumps of grey fire clinging to his body. Next to Mae, the Patron of Blooms gasped.

Once more, the Nether King was still, His eyes were vicious and his words were as suffocating as his long fingers tightening around a throat. “Will you stand? Or is the spar over already?”

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